


Couldn't Good Be Good Enough

by puella_nerdii



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rescue, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_nerdii/pseuds/puella_nerdii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Koujaku looks out for Aoba, even in places he doesn't expect to find him. (In which Koujaku crashes Mink's route.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Good Be Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for the aftermath of drug use, attempted (prevented) rape, and Koujaku's-fist-on-Mink's-face-style violence.

The low, throbbing bassline makes Koujaku’s teeth ache, and the pulsing lights sting the back of his eyes. His skin prickles, or the ink inside it does; it’s hard to tell, and he doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it. He has enough trouble reining himself in here, with so many tattoos coiling up dancers’ arms and necks and cheeks in shapes that look all too familiar. 

The trail to that bastard leads through this place, Koujaku _knows_ it. But finding anything in this crowd, with the lights doping everyone senseless -- it’s almost impossible.

Wait. There’s a flash of blue at the corner of his eye and he squints, shakes himself enough to cut through all the chemicals trying to crawl into his brain. Is that Aoba? What the hell is Aoba doing here? 

Aoba’s standing, barely. He sways on his feet, tilts his head back, sags against someone’s chest for support. It takes Koujaku a moment to realize he’s laughing. The sound’s all wrong, high-pitched and dazed and wild. A group of dancers gathers in front of Koujaku, blocking his view, and he shoulders his way through them, growling. By the time he gets past their clashing hips and twining legs, Aoba isn’t where he was.

The lights aren’t dragging Koujaku under anymore. They’re flashing, swelling like the knot in his stomach. “Aoba!” he shouts, but the sound dies barely a meter from his lips. He can’t have gone far, not in that condition –

He hasn’t. Aoba staggers towards a door on the other side of the room. No, he’s not doing it under his own power, someone’s pulling him. A stray beam of light catches that man’s face, sharpens his features. Mink.

“Shit,” Koujaku says, and runs after both of them. 

A few broken protests trail after him, but there’s no time to apologize. If he can even do that now, with how tight his throat’s locked up. He slams his foot into the door and races through it, tears down the dingy corridor. Aoba’s close, he tells himself. He has to be.

He is. He’s pressed against the wall and Mink grabs fistfuls of his shirt and even with Mink’s back in the way Koujaku can see Aoba fumbling with his belt buckle –

“Get away from him!” Koujaku roars, and something under his skin explodes.

Mink glances up. Good. It’s easier for Koujaku to hammer his fist into Mink’s jaw that way. Mink grunts, staggers back, but he’s still too close to Aoba, and Koujaku socks him in the gut to drive him away. He slams his knee into Koujaku’s side, but the flare of pain from that is nothing, _nothing_ to what Koujaku’s going to put this bastard through. He swings his elbow into Mink’s throat – or tries, but Mink catches it and twists it back and Koujaku lashes forward with his other hand to rip Mink’s face off –

“—Koujaku?”

“Aoba,” he says. His hand freezes. Mink lets go, too. The rush fades, now that he’s not moving, and he realizes how deep the burn under his skin is spreading. How much those things on his back must have swollen and stretched from this. He draws his sword with unsteady hands and backs closer to Aoba. The blade will give him space, at least. Space to cool down. Space to keep Aoba safe.

Mink straightens, wipes a trail of blood from his lip. If he’s breathing any harder, Koujaku can’t tell. Koujaku’s hands tighten and his skin shifts and the old darkness starts to fester at the root of him and he almost – almost – doesn’t care. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks, forcing his sword level.

“Nothing,” Mink says. “He overdosed on the lights.”

Behind him, Aoba breathes out, slow and shaky.

“And whose fault is that? Don’t tell me it was his idea, you son of a bitch.”

When Mink says nothing, Koujaku steps forward. “Get out of here. If you touch him again, I’ll slice your hand off.” 

It’s hard to tell in the gritty light, but he swears Mink smirks. “We’re not finished," he says, and hatred curls in Koujaku’s stomach, sick and hot. 

_That’s right, tilt your chin up, you piece of shit_ , Koujaku thinks, and drives the hilt of his sword into the underside of Mink’s jaw. It doesn’t matter how big he is: any man’s going to take a nap after a hit like that. And sure enough Mink topples over, cracking his head against the wall on the way down. Serves him right.

Koujaku sheathes his sword and hurries back to Aoba’s side. Aoba slumps against the wall, his hair stuck to the bricks, his eyes glassy and bright.

“Aoba. Aoba, can you hear me?”

“Mm,” Aoba says – no. It’s still not his voice. He lets his head drop onto Koujaku’s shoulder, and his lips are so close to Koujaku’s neck that he has to feel it when Koujaku swallows. “I want you to—”

“It’s all right. I’m taking you home.” Wherever that is. He could ask Ren, but Ren's safely tucked into Aoba's bag and it's probably better to leave him there right now. Instead, Koujaku scrolls through Aoba's Coil until he pulls up a map of Platinum Jail. That blinking red dot a couple blocks away must be where he's staying.

Aoba shakes his head, nestling deeper into the crook of Koujaku’s shoulder. 

“Aoba, you’re—you’re not feeling well right now. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Don’t want to think,” Aoba whispers. His breath’s so warm. Koujaku closes his eyes. “Just want—just _want_. Give it to me, whatever you want, let me…”

"We're getting out of here." Before Aoba can say anything else, Koujaku drapes Aoba's arm over his shoulder and holds on tight. Aoba's fingers trace Koujaku's collarbone lazily, like he's not sure what he's touching. And if he's too strung-out to tell—Koujaku grips Aoba's wrist, and catches the other one when Aoba tries to slide his free hand under Koujaku's yukata. Aoba pauses and pivots, presses his hips into Koujaku's leg, but Koujaku nudges him forward. What _happened_ to him back there? Anger boils in his veins to think about it, and his grip on Aoba's wrists tightens.

"Ow," Aoba says, in a voice much closer to his own. As hard and set as his mouth is right now, Koujaku still can't help but smile. 

The streets are as dark and dingy as the hallways in that club, and graffiti sprawls over the walls in the same way, thick and angry. But the main roads are straight and wide enough, and Koujaku only has to check Aoba's coil every so often to make sure he hasn't lost his way. 

"It's dark," Aoba murmurs in Koujaku's ear.

Koujaku twists his head to the side. Aoba's eyelids are fluttering, drifting shut. His lips part the way they did the last time Koujaku walked in from the veranda and found him napping. His breath's as soft, as light as it was then. 

"That's because you're closing your eyes, silly," Koujaku tells him.

"Oh," he says, and laughs: less wild than before, but still ragged and unsteady. "Then that's all right."

Well, he's following the conversation. Koujaku feels safe asking, "How are you feeling?"

"Hot. All over my skin—and something's pulling me—"

He squeezes Aoba's wrist, and hopes it's reassuring. Aoba's silent, but he does lift his head and smile before he flops onto Koujaku again. He really _is_ warm. Feverish? A bright flush spreads across his cheeks, and sweat beads at his temples. Koujaku almost wipes it off, but no, he has to keep his hold on Aoba's wrists. Besides, if he touches Aoba now—who knows? But it won't be what either of them want, he's sure of that.

Though Aoba craning his head towards Koujaku's hand makes things more difficult. Koujaku looks down. He needs to stop thinking about this. Aoba needs to get home. That's all that matters.

By now they've left the main drag and reached the side streets of the residential area. No more artificially-rusted steel or airbrushed dirt and grime: these buildings are neat and quiet, with trees lined in a row and spaced a meter apart. The blinking red marker on Aoba's coil shows he's staying in a building called Glitter. It looks nothing like what he'd expect it to, with a name like that. "Hey, we're here," he tells Aoba, who blinks up at him.

"Bright," Aoba says. 

"That's the streetlights."

"No. The sky—it's bright."

He's right. Koujaku never thought he'd see so many stars in Midorijima. He doubts he's seeing real stars at all, but they shimmer beautifully in the dark, group themselves into constellations his mother used to point out to him years ago.

Aoba isn't looking at the sky anymore. He's rubbing his head against Koujaku's chest instead.

"Aoba—"

"Stay here," he says, and tries to twine his leg around Koujaku's. 

"Aoba, you need to hold up your Coil so we can get inside. Can you do that?"

One of Aoba's hands slips free of Koujaku's hold and he wraps his arm around Koujaku's waist. His pulse is beating against Koujaku's skin, sluggish but steady. His breath beads around the edges of one of Koujaku's tattoos, and Koujaku flinches away before he can help it.

"You'll feel better once you lie down," he says. "I promise."

"I feel," Aoba starts, but doesn't finish. He sags, and it gives Koujaku enough time to guide him to the door, resettle his grip on Aoba's wrist, and press Aoba's Coil to the keypad. When it opens, Aoba stumbles forward and almost trips and takes Koujaku to the ground with him. But Koujaku steadies them both in time.

"Idiot," he says, and smiles more brightly than he has all evening when he gets a "You're the idiot, idiot" back.

No matter how much Koujaku wants to sink into those couch cushions right now, Aoba needs a real bed to rest in. Guiding Aoba up the stairs is like herding a cat—a cat who nearly collapses every two steps—but eventually Koujaku manages. There's water behind the bar on the second floor. Good. He'll need that in a bit. Has Aoba taken his medicine yet? He should have that, too, the bottle must be in his bag somewhere…

Koujaku pauses, breathes in, stops his thoughts from flying in a thousand directions at once. Get Aoba to bed first, he reminds himself. The rest can come after that.

He's not sure the first room _is_ Aoba's, when he opens the door. He can actually see the floor, for one, and nothing's heaped on top of the dresser. But there are Aoba's headphones, resting at the foot of the bed, and that's good enough for Koujaku. He gives Aoba's wrist a shake, and Aoba moans faintly.

"What's wrong?"

"My head." Aoba hisses, his face drawn tight. "Ow—"

"I'll get your medicine," Koujaku tells him. He has to wrestle Aoba out of his coat first, though, and peel the covers back, and keep him from falling face-first onto the bed. Koujaku draws in a breath through his teeth. Aoba can't hold his liquor worth a damn and Koujaku's had to walk him home from a bar or two before, but it's never been like this. 

He pulls Beni out of his sleeve, activates him with a tap on the head. "I need you to look up information on something called 'the lights'. It's a new kind of drug, I think. Tell me what it does, and what happens if you overdose."

Beni clicks his beak and gets to work. _Please don't let it be anything I can't fix_ , Koujaku prays, to anyone at all who might be listening.

From the bed, Aoba gives another faint groan.

"What is it?"

"It's still bright."

"I'll turn off the lights and get you a washcloth. That should help."

Aoba curls onto his side, his knees close to his chest. "Want it to stop."

"It'll take four to six hours for the effects to leave your system," Beni chirps from his perch on Koujaku's shoulder, and Aoba buries his face in his pillow. Good, he understood that.

"Sleep through as much of it as you can," Koujaku says. "If you need anything, I'm here."

The pillow muffles Aoba's voice, but if Koujaku listens hard enough he can make out the words. "You really are here. I wondered…"

"Hm?"

"Nothing." But it's not nothing, because Aoba bites his lip and adds, "I wondered if I was dreaming."

The lump in Koujaku's throat is too thick to speak around so he reaches for Aoba's hand instead, holds it tight. His palm's damp with sweat, but most of it's cooled by now. "I'm here. And I'm definitely—I'm going to protect you."

Aoba's smile is faint and lopsided, but it's there, and Koujaku's chest warms. "Just like before." He frowns, works his lips like he can't remember how to form the words and adds, "Someday…"

But Koujaku never hears the rest of it, because Aoba drifts off to sleep. That's all right. Koujaku's going to be here when he wakes up, if he wants to say it then.

***

Aoba tosses and turns at around three in the morning, and lets out a few fitful moans, but it could be much worse. He only wakes up once, about two hours after that. Koujaku makes him drink a full glass of water, changes the washcloth on his forehead, and holds his hand even after his eyes flutter shut again. Beni keeps watch over the door downstairs in case that bastard dares to show that ugly face of his, but he doesn't, and Koujaku doesn't have to draw his sword again that night. It's just as well. He doesn't want to leave the chair by Aoba's side.

Morning never comes, not in Platinum Jail. How long is Aoba going to sleep for, then? He's never exactly been the earliest riser. Well, let him sleep. The worry lines between his brows and around his eyes have finally eased away, and his breath rises and falls in a deep, even rhythm. Koujaku finishes the last of his current batch of oolong and fennel tea and is about to put another kettle on when Aoba yawns.

"Morning," Koujaku says.

Aoba replies with something like _gmph_.

"How's your head?"

He yawns again, then wrinkles his nose, pinches the bridge hard. "My medicine—"

Koujaku presses two tablets into his palm.

"Thanks." Aoba finds the glass of water all right by himself and drinks it with a full-body shudder, his throat bobbing. "Ugh."

"Are you feeling better?" Koujaku asks, to be sure.

"I think so. Last night's a little hazy." Aoba rubs his eyes, groans again. "I remember—Mink took me to a club, and then—"

Koujaku takes Aoba's hand and squeezes it hard before he can think better of it, or think about anything at all. "You're safe now. I guess I can't tell you not to worry, but he's not coming back." _Not if he values his worthless life_ , he adds silently.

"Oh. I—" Aoba hesitates, swallowing. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, shaking his head. "Never mind. –wait, Koujaku."

"Hm?"

"How did you get into Platinum Jail? Did you get an invitation, too?"

"I snuck in," Koujaku says, and decides to leave it at that. "Haga-san told me you'd gone ahead, but he didn't know where you'd ended up."

"You were looking for me?"

It's Koujaku's turn to hesitate. "I'm glad I found you," he says at last.

Aoba frowns. "That's not the same—ow." The frown turns into a grimace. "It feels like someone's playing drums in my head." His forehead glistens, faintly, and Koujaku's struck by the image of pressing his lips to Aoba's skin there, feeling some of the worst tension melt away. _Idiot_ , he tells himself, and tries to hide his flinch from Aoba. _He doesn't need that from you._

"Koujaku? You look out of it."

"Hm? No, I was just thinking."

Aoba props himself up on his elbows, peers at Koujaku with a scowl. "Koujaku, did you sleep at all?"

"Ah. …no."

"You dumbass. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did."

"But you must be exhausted!"

Koujaku gestures to the empty teakettle with a flick of his wrist. "That tea's strong enough to keep me up for a couple more hours. It's fine."

"It's not," Aoba protests, but doesn't seem to have the energy for much more than that. He settles back down again. "I just—you shouldn't forget to look after yourself, either."

"I _was_ looking after myself. If anything had happened to you—"

Koujaku catches himself, and heat rushes to his ears.

"—l didn't want that," he finishes, and knows how weak those words are. "So I'm feeling better because you're feeling better."

"You're weird," Aoba tells him, and it's so petulant and so perfectly him that Koujaku bursts out laughing. Before long, Aoba joins in, muffles his chuckles behind his wrist. He'll be all right, Koujaku thinks. He's strong and he's brave, and he'll be all right.

Aoba's laugh sputters into a cough. Koujaku thrusts the glass of water at him again, but Aoba waves it away. "Koujaku?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough to.

"Yes?"

"Did I—" He pauses, stares at his knees. "Did I do anything strange last night?"

Koujaku rests the heel of his hand on the nightstand, scours his brain for the right words. "Nothing you have to regret," he says.

"Oh." Aoba closes his eyes, but doesn't look like he's falling back asleep. "Then—thank you."

"I'd hate to do anything less," Koujaku says. He squeezes Aoba's hand, and together they stare out the window, past the rows of rooftops and strings of lights to the Oval Tower waiting for them both.


End file.
